


The Baskerville Wolf

by WastingYourGum



Series: Lone Wolf [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:51:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows on from Lone Wolf (and you really should read that first). </p><p>Sherlock Holmes died at Richmond Baths, in the same explosion that severely injured his flatmate, John Watson. Sherlock's friend and colleague, DI Greg Lestrade, has vowed to track down those responsible.</p><p>That's what the <em>official</em> story says anyway.</p><p>In reality, Greg can become a wolf - and only Sherlock and John know... or so they thought.</p><p>There's always someone watching... and now, the British Government has decided the "death" of Sherlock Holmes (and the expected months in hospital for John Watson) is the perfect opportunity to "invite" Greg to stay at one of their facilities on Dartmoor...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **THIS WILL UPDATE VERY VERY INFREQUENTLY BUT IT _WILL_ UPDATE AND IT _WILL_ FINISH.**  
> 
> I get very little time for writing but if I get started, I will keep going, albeit sloooowly. I can only beg for your patience and thank you for the encouragement I got from the reception to the first part.

He woke slowly, fighting up through a thick drug-induced fog only to surface and find himself in one of his worst recurring nightmares.

He couldn't move, couldn't focus; the world was a shifting kaleidoscope of white ceilings and looming faces. The hum and hiss of medical equipment faded in and out over people talking in whispers and there was pain everywhere...

_God, no! Not this, please!_

A hand slipped into his and he seized it like a lifeline - one fixed point his senses could rely on. Bones ground together in his grip and the hand's owner gasped and bit off a cry but didn't let go; if anything, the other hand held tighter.

"It's alright. You're safe."

_Whose… That's... That's Sarah..._

"Everything's going to be fine, John."

_It's not the dream... It's not Selly Oak… Where--?_

"You were at Richmond Baths and there was an explosion."

_Richmond Baths… Why was I--?_

"You were badly injured but you're going to be OK. I'm here. You're going to be fine. Go back to sleep."

_There was something... Something I had to tell her..._

John felt the pain medication slide over his consciousness and he gratefully let reality float away again.

_Later..._

 

* * *

He woke slowly; eyes and brain both gummy from the sedative but senses of hearing, smell, taste and touch all on high alert as they were bombarded with information.

_Aircon/whispers/breathing/footsteps... Chemical/disinfectant/aftershave?/plastic/leather... pressure on wrists, ankles, chest, legs/air on skin/ **naked**..._

His eyes snapped open.

_White..._

Everything - the stark white room, the slightly tilted table he was secured to, the faceless man in a white surgical gown and mask approaching him holding a scalpel - _Christ, please not a scalpel!_ \- was straight from his worst nightmares.

Greg strained with all his might against the padded metal bands holding him down. They didn't give so much as a millimetre.

The man put one hand out, laid it on Greg's shoulder and said, "Please try to relax."

_Are you fucking kidding me?!_

"We have no intention of causing you any permanent harm. We're just going to take some measurements on your rate of regeneration."

Greg could have laughed if he wasn't suddenly preoccupied with not throwing up or pissing himself - or both. The man probably thought he was being reassuring but the subtitles clearly said: no _permanent_ harm, plenty of _temporary_ harm.

Greg forced his attention away from the glinting metal to a point on the ceiling and tried to get his breathing under control.

_Oh God, please don't... I'm not brave enough for this... Please... Please don't..._

"Ten centimetre vertical incision, left pectoral."

For a second nothing happened then Greg felt the stinging pain of the cut blossom across and under his skin. He screwed his eyes shut and his breath whistled sharply in and out through his nose.

He heard the clatter of the scalpel hitting a metal tray and then the click and whirr of a camera shutter.

"Can you actually see anything happening?" a disembodied voice asked from somewhere near the ceiling.

Greg felt the man's breath against his chest as he came closer. "No, I... Yes! Amazing! You have to look carefully but the tissue is regenerating fast enough to be visible. The bleeding has already stopped."

"So Holmes wasn't exaggerating... Very well, let's continue."

"Yes, sir." The man cleared his throat. "Ten centimetre horizontal incision, right pectoral."

Somehow the pain was worse now Greg knew what to expect. He moaned into the gag strapped across the bottom third of his face and clenched his fists uselessly inside their padded gloves. Tears ran freely down the sides of his face and pooled in the hollow in the back of his skull.

The man continued working his way around Greg's body, causing differing types of wounds as he went; abrasions, punctures, lacerations, contusions; his arms, legs, stomach, ribs, hands, feet, head.

His voice calmly continued cataloguing long after Greg had tuned it and everything else out and sunk into a haze of endorphins...

 

* * *

He woke to soft lighting, soft bedding and the hard reality that big brother had been taking decisions on his behalf and without consultation.

Again.

"I'm dead?"

"Killed in the explosion that leveled Richmond Baths, killing James Moriarty and injuring your flatmate. Don't worry, John will be fine, " Mycroft cut off the anticipated question before Sherlock had even drawn breath.

Sherlock winced as he gently touched the biggest lump on his head. "And what exactly is the point of this? Other than you getting some perverse satisfaction from bumping me off?"

"Moriarty's network will no longer be looking for you, leaving you free to dismantle it from beyond the grave without worrying about possible retaliation."

Sherlock considered all his options before being forced to agree. It did make sense and was a good way of keeping John and Lestrade out of danger.

He hated having to admit it when Mycroft was right.

"I'll need money and some fake IDs."

"I have a selection already waiting for when you're fit to travel. It's probably best if you're absent from London for a while. Let things cool down."

"You keep an eye on John for me?"

"Of course. I will provide any assistance I can to your people here. I've already arranged with Mrs Hudson to pay your half of the rent so John can continue to live at the Baker Street flat."

Sherlock decided against mentioning Lestrade. With any luck Mycroft would drop him to Level 1 and all but forget about him.

"Don't worry - I'll let you know anything I think you need to be aware of that happens in your absence," Mycroft promised.

Sherlock knew full well that what Mycroft thought he should be aware of and what he probably should actually be aware of could be two vastly differing things. Now was not the time to bring that old argument up again though.

"I think my first stop will be Colombia. Can you arrange that?"

Mycroft nodded. "You'll need some shots. Fortunately I have several good doctors on call. Just rest. I'll send for one."

Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin. This was going to require some meticulous planning.

He sank back into the pile of pillows...


	2. Chapter 2

Greg came back to himself.

He was still strapped down in the white room.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. It wasn't a dream and no amount of wishing or praying was going to change that - deal with it, move on.

He opened his eyes again and noticed for the first time that the top third of the room on one side was mirrored - one-way glass presumably. There were people up there watching and directing everything that was being done to him. Mycroft bloody Holmes was probably one of them, the bastard.

He had no idea how much time had passed. He was ravenously hungry but then he always was after he got injured and subsequently healed himself. Didn't feel the need to _go_ though, which was odd. Maybe he'd pissed himself while he was out, though he couldn't smell anything other than the strong antiseptic smell from earlier and the faint whiff of leather from the restraints.

A soft clunk of a disengaging lock made his eyes swivel to the side. The door was like something from a submarine; several inches of solid metal with a small porthole window. It slid open, vanishing behind the wall on one side.

Two men in British Army uniform came in; one blond, one dark, both about the same height and build as Greg. They had young faces but a hardness in their eyes that said they were no raw recruits. They brought in a hint of woods, cigarette smoke, conflicting aftershaves. Greg looked past them but only the flat white wall of a corridor was visible outside. It told him nothing.

They were followed by another doctor, a different man from the first. He had thick-rimmed glasses sitting on a sharp nose, thinning blond hair and he was smaller in build, with a hunched stature that spoke of years peering into microscopes. He appeared to be maybe a few years younger than Greg and smelled of plastic with a hint of laundry detergent. He pushed in a small trolley covered by a white cloth.

Greg didn't hold out much hope it was room service.

One of the uniformed men drew a pistol and took a covering position to one side, the weapon aimed directly and unwaveringly at Greg.

The doctor approached Greg and started peering and poking at various points where he'd been cut.

"Remarkable. Completely healed. No scarring at all, not even on the longer incisions." His voice was dry and slightly wheezy. He stepped back. "Remove the gag, please."

The soldier with the gun adjusted his grip and settled his stance as the other stood behind Greg's head and unbuckled his muzzle.

Greg worked his jaw, trying to ease the stiffness. He stopped when he noticed how still the other three men had gone.

The doctor approached more hesitantly, holding a sealed drinks cup with a long straw which he handed to the guard in exchange for the muzzle. "This is just water," he told Greg. "Try to drink it slowly."

Greg opened his mouth and sipped as soon as the straw was placed in it. Who cared what was in it? He was parched and if they were going to poison him there was nothing he could do anyway.

The table he was strapped to was on a slight incline instead of completely flat which helped the liquid go down a little easier. He'd only drunk a small amount when the water was removed and replaced with another cup holding a thicker mixture not unlike a chocolate shake. Greg took a long draw. It was a bit gritty and the chocolate taste had a synthetic edge to it but it felt good to have something filling his stomach. He settled into a rhythm of smaller mouthfuls; suck, swallow, suck, swallow, breathe, repeat.

Another doctor appeared - an older man, tall and broad with an air of authority about him. He beckoned the other one over to the door and spoke to him in what he probably thought was a whisper.

Greg was able to hear every word.

> "I thought we were going to feed him through an IV?"
> 
> "Tried fitting it while he was out. It went in OK but he heals so fast it was getting pushed back out again. Decided to go with Plan B and give him it orally."
> 
> "What about a feeding tube?"
> 
> "Possibly later - but we want him to be able to talk and he seems to be cooperating."
> 
> "You've left the catheter in though?"
> 
> "Yes, that seems to be fine. Must be because it's not actually puncturing anything. We can always take it out if it gets in the way. He can tell us when he needs it."

Greg's pulse rate rocketed upwards. They weren't even going to let him up to take a piss. He was never getting out of here. He was never even getting off this bloody table.

He suddenly couldn't get any air. He tried to take a large breath through his mouth, inhaled some of the shake and started choking.

"Sir!" One of the soldiers shouted for the doctors' attention.

"Shit." The first doctor rushed over. "Get that oxygen mask on him," he snapped, then to Greg, "Just breathe. You're OK..."

It took several painful minutes for Greg to calm down and catch his breath. He blinked furiously trying to clear his vision; his lashes were wet and he couldn't see properly.

"Close your eyes."

He did so and a tissue was applied to each, soaking up the excess moisture.

"Alright?"

Greg opened his eyes again. The doctor was leaning over him, waiting for a response.

"Yes."

God, his voice sounded rough.

The taller doctor came over. "You heard us talking about the catheter, didn't you? That's what set you off." He turned to his colleague. "No more discussion in here - his hearing's too good."

The first doctor nodded and turned back to Greg as the taller doctor marched out of the room. "I know it's humiliating but I promise it's perfectly safe. I'm sorry we have to do these things to you but please understand, our number one priority is keeping you alive. Whatever happens is under strict medical supervision by some of the best doctors in the country. You're in very good hands."

"Please" Greg croaked. "I just want to go home. I've never hurt anyone. I never _will_ hurt anyone."

The doctor shook his head with what seemed like genuine regret. "I'm sorry - but that's not an option just now. Maybe later. We'll see."

"Please..."

The doctor nodded to the guard standing behind Greg's head. The oxygen mask was removed and the muzzle reappeared.

"No! No! Please. N-"

Greg tried to fight it but he couldn't even twist his head away.

"Make sure that's on tightly," the doctor directed as he left the room.

The first guard tugged at the buckle to make sure it was secure and then nodded to his colleague. They both headed after the doctor.

"I thought they said there was no risk of catching anything even if he bit us?" the second guard asked, under his voice.

If it hadn't been for Greg's exceptional hearing he'd have missed the first guard's reply just before the door clicked back into place.

"Nah. It's not that. They just don't want him screaming the place down."

The shake rolled and heaved in his stomach. Greg closed his eyes again…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much if you're still here from earlier! I'm sorry it's been an age since I last updated but I'm still plugging away at it - promise! Thank you to all those who have encouraged _ and prodded! - me with kudos and comments.


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